


Propagation

by likeabomb



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Cervix Penetration, Inanimate Objects, M/M, Object Insertion, Other, Oviposition, Vines, Warlock and Krakoa aren't human, Xenophilia, womb fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: Doug mistimes when he was supposed to meet with Krakoa, but things work out regardless.
Relationships: Douglas Ramsey/Krakoa, Douglas Ramsey/Warlock (New Mutants)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Propagation

**Author's Note:**

> It's tagged oviposition, but they're not really EGGS so much as bulbs or seeds, but the tag was the closest fit.

“I mean, you leave it to us as a community- we’re all under 30, we’re not gettin’ _shit_ done, y’know? Think about it, we’re all young, we’re all in paradise, the sun’s always shining, the weather’s nice- nobody wants to study, and nobody wants to get sweaty.” Tabby’s lips purse and she grins a sly look, “Well, not in training, anyway.”

Doug clicks his tongue, “Tabby!”

She laughs, bright and happy, taking off her sunglasses and setting a hand on his arm, “Oh, come on, Douggie, it’s in the laws! You think some of us weren’t on top of practice even before it was decided?”

“I know it’s in the laws, trust me, I was there when they decided,” Doug rolls his eyes, even with the smile on his lips.

“Quiet Council’s a bunch of kinky old bastards, eh?” Tabby nudges him gently.

The sensation of vines twisting up Doug’s ankle draws his thoughts from Tabitha to Krakoa as a whole. Breath catching, he feels arousal spark through him at a unique sensation of warmth blooming through his insides. His toes curl in his boots and he can acutely feel the rush of- His face gets a little hot, and reddens when he feels the vines creep all the way up his leg to his hip.

When flowers bud and blossom on his hip and over his belly, flaring bright blues against his yellow and black uniform and jacket, Tabby tilts her head to look, cutting off whatever train of thought she’d been running, reaching to stroke petals, “Aw, Doug, look! Krakoa’s sayin’ hi.”

Sweat dots his brow and he huffs a quivering laugh, “He sure is.”

Quirking a brow at him, suspicion written clear in her face, Doug quickly puts his hands up, taking a step back with the leg not wrapped up, “I’m gonna go see if I can’t figure out what he wants. Have a good one, Tabby!”

The look of suspicious curiosity follows him and his blush stays solidly all the way into his ears. The trees shift just a bit to let him through, a trail carving itself so his path is easy, and everything closes up behind him, vines draping, underbrush shifting, and the island swallows him up into the expanse of trees. Once he’s out of sight and out of earshot, Doug braces himself against one of the trees, his knees quivering.

_Your internal clock needs adjustment, DouglasAaronRamsey. You were told._

The earth below him, the wind through the trees, the rustle of the brush all speak in a rumbling that rocks him to the bones. It’s guttural and primal, and something very much alien, but it’s something Doug and _only_ Doug understands, uniquely equipped to be able to really, truly, know what the island wants and feels and needs. And he’s no stranger to something a little out there.

Jittering and shifting up and down his arm before eyes peek from around his elbow. Doug huffs a laugh, “Are you coming out, then?”

“Self was unsure if Self was invited to Selfsoulmate’s intimate coupling.”

Doug’s face flushes and he ducks his head and Warlock laughs, a crackling static filled noise that raises the hair on the back of Doug’s neck.

“You know you’re always invited, Warlock. Not as though I’m gonna make you get lost so Krakoa can have his way with me.”

The black and gold shimmers along his arm before it starts to drip and twist off, speckling the leaves a little as Doug continues to walk, the island moving and shifting out of his way. He doesn’t know where they’re going, he never does, because with the way Krakoa shifts, there’s no real way to make accurate up to date maps that don’t change as easily as breathing. People have learned to accept that and know that when they need to get somewhere, Krakoa will help. Usually.

Warlock ends up walking alongside Doug and when the sensations of warmth blooming through his middle make his knees jelly, he loops a hand, or at least a facsimile of a hand, around Doug’s waist.

Doug shivers and Krakoa rumbles a laugh.

_You are not out of the woods yet._

Letting himself be supported by Warlock, Doug’s head lulls back for a moment, hair falling away from his flushed face and he groans quietly.

“You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

“It was quite humorous, selfsoulmate, as we are still in the woods physically and yourself, metaphorically.”

Hot, thick wetness trails down his thighs and Doug’s eyes flutter, “If… he’d find a spot already.”

“Self believes Krakoaentity enjoys seeing you in a state of disarray,” Warlock hums, and Doug wants to reach over and tug the smile off his face. His boyfriends are bullying him, plain and simple.

Warlock keeps Doug on his feet, craning his long neck so he can brush their cheeks together, a feeling of static, like off an old CRT, ghosting over his skin. The long crests and fringes on his head that always look like a mockup of hair smooth through Doug’s hair like fingers. Doug relaxes a little before the earth under his feet lifts and shifts, and he stumbles a step and gets the hint to keep walking. Warlock’s big hand reaches to run over the leaves and branches as they walk, a silent gesture Doug knows better by the lines of Warlock’s body as quiet affection for the island taking care of his selfsoulmate.

“How many was it this time?” Warlock inquires, and while he might be good at keeping an innocent and curious tone for others, Doug can hear the inflections of his mischief and the golden glint off his eyes. 

“Four- five,” Doug huffs gently, “Four or five, y-yeah.”

“Are they a sufficient weight?” Warlock presses the questions gently. He knows Doug’s comfort zones and levels about as well as Doug himself. With the amount that the two of them are a single entity, weaved together to the decimal, he knows. Only Doug can _really_ tell him, of course, but he has a fairly good gauge.

“Warlooock,” Doug groans, letting his head drop, his hair hanging in his face. The red is creeping into his ears again and the tilt of his head only somewhat hides his exasperation and embarrassment, but doesn’t hide the fact Warlock’s eyes and systems scan at such a level he knows just how many are there, tucked away inside Doug, and how aroused he is with them being there.

Licking over his lips, he moves a hand and pushes his hair back from his face and straightens his back. Krakoa opens up to a clearing, quiet but warm, sunny, but centered under some slow moving clouds too.

Doug sighs in relief and starts to shrug his jacket off. Just the one sleeve, as Warlock generally takes up the entirety of the other arm, and drops it in the grass as he takes stumbling steps on shaking knees. A chirp of a laugh brightens the field with a rush of flowers and Doug melts, lowering himself to his knees, spread just a little wide. He leans over to run his fingers through the blades of grass and flops over onto his back with a punch of a content sigh.

“The two of you always have to team up to gang up on me, don’t you?”

Warlock smiles, up past his eyes, “It is selfsoulmate’s stated preference, to have both Self and Krakoaentity with him.”

He puddles like liquid and moves across the ground, his body shimmering and not moving a single blade of grass. Moving up and across Doug’s hip and ribs, chest and shoulder, goosebumps prickle down Doug’s arms, shivering down his spine at the soft static feeling. He smiles as Warlock presents most of a face to nuzzle in against Doug’s chin and cheek. Flowers bloom and Krakoa reaches vines up along Doug’s hips and in under the hem of his shirt.

“Alright, alright, I get it. And they say _we’re_ the rowdy ones. They’ve never met math and nature.”

The ground almost _purrs_ beneath Doug as Krakoa laughs, and Doug sits up, pulling up his shirt to pull it off over his head, the vines and circuitry helping each movement along. He tosses it off into the grass and it lands nowhere near his jacket, but he pays it no mind. Velvety soft leaves caress bare skin and old scars and hickies and it all takes up far too much of his attention.

Doug raises a hand to the facade of a cheek and Warlock turns his face into the hand, eyes aglow. Doug leans in to butt their foreheads together and the energy bounces between them in a way that’s positively infectious, leaving him feeling giddy and warm. It’s not quite a kiss, and it’s not quite _not_ either.

A vine tugs on his boot and Doug sighs a fond laugh before leaning over to tug his boots off, tossing them to the side.

At one point he might have been averse to fucking in the middle of a field, but it’s been a long time since Doug’s ideas of sex were given new light. He opened himself up to exploring himself and others. His first time was with a shapeshifting alien who’s concept of a constant and recognizable shape were and are loose at best. He’s learned to have an open mind.

Shifting, he hooks his thumbs in the back of his pants and underwear and wiggles them down off his ass and pushes them all off so he’s bare sitting in the field. He knows no one’s going to stumble on their tryst, because even the first time Krakoa had eased his worries about it- the island carves and moves paths to deter people. Sure, he doesn’t have a good way around people flying over, but how often does that really happen?

When Doug’s pants are shucked off, there’s a gush from between his thighs and he sighs quietly. It’s been a slow leak since he first felt it while he was trying to have a normal conversation with Tabby, only made more pronounced the more Krakoa and Warlock teased him about it. Opening his legs a little, Doug reaches between his legs and swipes his fingers through the thick gush of nectar in the grass. Vines smooth over his body and wrap slowly around his thighs, squeezing and shifting.

“Yeah, you did that. You h-happy?”

A rolling rumbling accompanies a few flowers sprouting along the vines.

_You make me happy._

Doug huffs a little laugh and ducks his head again, running his free hand through his hair before letting it settle on his belly. Covered by his shirt and jacket, it had been hard to see, but there’s a little bulge there, warm to the touch. He pushes against it and his eyes roll back a little as more amber nectar gushes from his cunt.

“I don’t know how I let the two of you talk me into this kinky shit,” Doug says gently, turning his face til he can press a searching kiss against the corner of Warlock’s cheek. He moves fronds through Doug’s hair and along his jaw and throat until he shivers and chases the rush of goosebumps with that static sensation. He offers his mouth entirely when Doug kisses a little more insistently, slipping his tongue into his soulmate’s mouth. It’s warm and slick, wet but not.

The vines tighten along his thighs, shifting higher to pull his legs apart. The tips of two more slide against his lips and pull them apart as he gushes again with a shudder.

“You go-gonna put more in there or-or ease all this outta me?” Doug asks, breath hot against Warlock’s teeth.

_You breed the prettiest flowers, DouglasAaronRamsey._

Streaks of flowers bloom from the rivulets of Krakoa’s cum emptying from Doug’s pussy. 

His face is hot and he sighs a nervous laugh, “I bet you say that to all the pretty mutants.”

Warlock crackles a laugh too, and while he doesn’t understand Krakoa directly himself, he can hear the two of them talking, and knows Doug well enough through their years together to supply, “Only the selfsoulmate, Douglove.”

Leaning into Warlock, he solidifies enough to be a stable chest, body, person, for Doug to lean on and rely on as Krakoa starts to twist a new vine against his slick folds, dripping with the same fluid flowing thick from Doug’s fluttering cunt. When Krakoa turns the cluster of vines, shifting and moving over themselves, he works it up into Doug with a soft squelch that makes him mutter obscenities quietly, at the feeling, yes, but at the sound of it.

His head falls back and he breathes hard, chest rising and falling, embarrassed and aroused blush crawling down into his chest and up into his ears.

“Your temperature is increasing,” Warlock teases, “Does it feel good, selflover?”

“Fuck, Warlock,” Doug groans, turning his face into him, any part of him he can, and Warlock accommodates, changing himself to better fit Doug. Fingers form and trace the line of pale fluff on Doug’s chest, down and around one of his nipples, pinching it between his fingers and watching as it reddens more, stiff but soft in his grip.

Krakoa fucks him open and Warlock teases him, and Doug melts between them, eyes bleary as he tries not to drool down his chin at the sensation of the bulbs Krakoa planted in his womb shift and move as the vines stir him up. Squirting cum, his eyelids flutter and he swallows hard at the feeling of his cervix relaxing to the hormones laced thick through everything Krakoa pumped him full of.

Everything pulls and contracts a little.

Doug pants hot when Krakoa pushes a tentacle, mercifully thin at first, in through his cervix, eyes rolling back a little. It’s definitely not something bodies should do, but at this point in his life, Doug is more than used to mutantkind and even his own body specifically doing things it probably shouldn’t. Like fusing down to the atom with an alien.

Krakoa fucks his womb slowly, tenderly, leaves brushing over his arms and soft petals of flowers shifting against soft skin, blooming along his thighs not only from Krakoa’s encouragements, but the potent nectar that keeps oozing out of Doug’s cunt.

When he feels Krakoa shift and move the bulbs tucked away in his womb, packed tight with that sap colored slick, Doug shudders through an orgasm, clenching tight as Warlock makes a noise between static and a purr. It’s a happy, encouraging sound, and in the haze of the entire mess that’s happening between the three of them, Doug can’t help but think he’s lucky, even if his partners are entirely non human. Maybe he’s even more lucky because of that.

_You are so fertile for my seeds, honey._

Doug turns his face again into Warlock, panting hard, embarrassed at such soft and sweet words when they’re in the middle of something so dirty. It’s good- it’s fucking fantastic- but it’s absolutely dirty as hell. Especially because he’s been carrying around Krakoa’s bulbs since this time yesterday. Sleep last night had been… interesting.

“Self wonders what color they will be. You are exceptionally good at creating flowers atypical to their usual color ranges. Krakoa is right, you _are_ talented.” Warlock praises gently, a smile cut across his face with teeth like piano keys, and Doug is absolutely enamored.

“P-please-”

_Are you begging, DouglasAaronRamsey?_

“It’s d-dismissive- a-ha, fuck,” Doug groans, squirming between the two of them.

Warlock nuzzles at his cheek again and watches the writhing bulge in Doug’s belly, reaching a hand to run his fingers over the hot skin, stretching just a little with Krakoa’s tentacles, watching with rapt attention as Krakoa fucks their boy senseless.

Doug drools on Warlock’s arm a little, too blissed out to realize, and it only fills the tech with more codes of adoration for his mutant love.

Back arching with a long whine, Everything stops for a moment before the rumbling, rolling sensation of Krakoa asking Doug something rushes across the field.

_Brace yourself, my succulent, I will not harm you._

Grip tightening just a bit in whatever purchase he can get of Warlock, Doug nods, chest heaving. His cunt squeezes hard and his insides feel like someone’s taken a blender to them, but not in an unpleasant way. It’s difficult to describe, especially so overrun with bliss. The thin tentacle that breached his cervix twists and winds, running along the inside walls of his womb gently, tenderly, and wrap around one of the bulbs, pulling it down against his cervix. It’s much bigger than the vine alone, and blunt, but with the nectar loosening him up, his body starts to kick into gear with little contractions, encouraged by the seeds in his womb.

Eyelids fluttering, Doug reaches, but can’t quite manage with Krakoa restraining him, and Warlock understands. He slides a hand, fingers too long, down along Doug’s distended belly to the curls of blonde and farther to his clit. As soon as Warlock’s fingers pass over it, once, twice, Doug comes again, shivering as his body works, and is worked, to birth Krakoa’s seeds.

“F-fuck, c’mon, c-c’mon, please,” Doug pants, sweat on his forehead and shoulders, face and chest ruddy. He licks his lips, but it doesn’t help much with how much he’s been panting.

Warlock keeps a slow and steady rhythm on Doug’s clit, occasionally moving fingers down farther to run them against his lips and the way Krakoa’s vines stretch his pussy open. 

Shuddering again, Doug’s heel digs through the grass a little as his body tenses and slowly, Krakoa pulls out a bulb, sprouting bright green and smelling sweet already, dripping with both their fluids. Doug rocks his hips against nothing a couple of times before Krakoa sets the seed aside and works tentacles back inside him. From there, it gets easier.

Krakoa takes time to fuck his womb and keep him open and pliant, Warlock rubs his clit and labia, and Doug just proceeds to become more and more of a puddle between them.

On the last seed, Doug is starting to flag after enough orgasms he’s lost count, and Warlock smooths fingers through his sweat drenched hair.

“You are nearly finished, selfheart, one more. Correct, Krakoaentity?”

Krakoa rumbles quietly under them to reassure Doug as well, grass shifting against him gently, like a soft hand.

_One final seedling, my bud._

Doug squirms a little and sighs. He’s well and thoroughly fucked out, but god if it isn’t some of the best marathon sex he’s had. He nods into Warlock’s embrace and Krakoa’s leaves shift and shiver against his skin happily before continuing.

The last is dealt with in a more gentle manner with how tired out Doug is, and Krakoa doesn’t pound into him so much as just rock. Warlock tilts his head in to kiss at the corner of Doug’s mouth as Doug had done to him earlier, giving him a little static purr before Doug smiles and snickers against him, turning into the kiss.

With a few hard groans against Warlock’s mouth, Doug feels the roundness of it push his cervix wide, and the rippled smooth coil of Krakoa’s tentacle pulls along his sweet spot on the way out. With one last pop, the last bulb comes free, spilling nectar and slick all across the grass.

All five of them sit between Doug’s shaking, quaking legs, and Krakoa’s vines and leaves move along his thighs and underneath both Doug and Warlock, moss grows, much softer than the grass they’d come to lay on initially. Doug sighs at the change in sensation, and Warlock reaches to hold a seed, a stark difference between techno organic and mutant nature almost amusing.

Doug peeks and huffs a tired laugh, sitting up enough to see them. They’re five different kinds of flowers, all native to Krakoa. They look like the ones used to make the gates, but the petals are distinctly more heart shaped. They’re in a range of colors, but all are stark and bright and unique to each other.

The moss he’d been laying in shifts to move against his back as Krakoa makes a tiny slope for Doug to recline against. He throbs pleasantly from his ribs to his knees.

_Look at your beautiful garden, DouglasAaronRamsey. You did this._

“I… don’t know if I wanna know what all I did to do all that other than carry around the fruits of your labor. My labor?” He huffs a laugh, letting himself relax more.

Warlock reaches with his long, long arms to pull over Doug’s back, discarded with his jacket, and pulls out Doug’s water bottle, handing it over as Doug reaches to scoop up one of the seeds, big enough he can cup it with two hands, but not too big to hold with just one hand, turning it over to look at it. The petals and tight bulb are still slick.

“Will they bloom into actual plants?”

_If you plant them, yes, of course. Will you grow a proper garden of our flowers, sweet?_

In the ways Doug’s face went red earlier at the embarrassment, it’s different this time. It’s slower, and softer, more pink than red. The way Krakoa says it, it sounds awfully tender, and an awful lot like _home_. It feels safe and warm and welcoming. This isn't the first time they've gotten up to things like this, but this is the first time they've sprouted like this.

A smile spreads over his face and he nods, “I know just the place."


End file.
